Music Box Girl
by Hazey Rine
Summary: Do you want to hear about my love story? Do you want to listen to a poor music box's life? Would you care enough to read what I have to say? Really? That's great.


**Title: Music Box Girl**

**Summary: Do you want to hear about my love story? Do you want to listen to a poor music box's life? Would you care enough to read what I have to say? Really? That's great.**

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><p>I am not a human being, but I am alive. I do not have soft skin; I'm made of porcelain. I do not have smooth hair – I already told you, PORCELAIN. I cannot move; I'm fixed in one position. I cannot speak; I always smile. I'm a figurine on top of a music box that utters a tune only she can hear.<p>

Ah, you're wondering who 'she' is? I'll tell you. She is not really a 'she'; 'she' is more like a 'he,' just remove the 's'. Though he has long hair, he is most definitely male. I've seen him… and not in that way. As said, I'm a figurine. I do not feel lust, nor can I feel love.

I've been in his life longer than any other friend in the world. I was a birthday present he received from his mother. I came along with a platform stage and a wind on it. Whenever he was sad, he would wind it up and I would dance, twirling on one foot, pirouetting repeatedly to a song only she – I mean he – could hear.

He was never selfish, but he never let anyone see me. He was afraid that someone would take me away. Even now, with all these modern gadgets that he has, he still hasn't forgotten about me. The box I have is a pure eggshell color and I'm dressed in a blue leotard and frilly tutu. He's always said that I looked like a child – I guess to some extent I am.

When he was younger, he cried a lot. He couldn't understand why he had to pretend to be a girl, so he always came rushing to his room. He'd pluck me off his night stand and wind me up as much as I went, then I'd go twirling around to the song only he could hear. He would hum the song whenever I danced and I felt elated, as if I could jump off that platform and engage him in a dance that would change the world.

When he was ten, he was on his bed, watching me twirl. He looked deep in thought for a minute, but I was surprised when he kissed me – he did. I felt his soft pink lips touch my porcelain skin, felt his cool breath when he told me he loved me and that he was so happy he had me to comfort him.

If I could, I would have blushed.

When he was thirteen, he started living life as a boy and I felt afraid. Since he was a boy now, he needed no music box to comfort him, but he showed me that I didn't need to worry. I was always his best friend. Some days he'd come home stressed from girls in his school pursuing him and he'd just lie down in bed, skip dinner and listen to my song for hours. I was a figurine – I too got tired, but didn't care. I loved dancing for him. I didn't care if I broke or tire. I was just so happy to see him smiling, see him taking comfort from me and only from me.

When he was fifteen, I broke down; a loose screw stopped me from dancing. He didn't notice it and I stayed broken for a week. He was too busy entertaining a new student in his school and I felt hurt. Was this the feeling that they called 'heartbreak?' I was literally broken, but it hurt so much more than I thought – being ignored, I mean.

When he did realize that I was broken, he looked so adorably worried I couldn't help but smile. He'd gotten his mom to fix me and I felt great. But something happened that day that I could never forget. He put me back inside my box and I was shoved into his bedside drawer.

It was dark in that drawer and if I could, I would have cried. Instead, I just waited. Waited for my darling he-she to take me out and ask me to dance with him again. Days went by. Years. Maybe even a century. But I never came out of the drawer. I was so sure my he-she was grown up and had forgotten about me.

I felt so hurt. I wouldn't have been surprised if a maid came in and chucked me into the garbage can. That's why when the cabinet opened, I awaited my doom with a smile on my face, as I always did.

Soft hands plucked me out of the box and I met a charming face. She had pink hair and shining gold eyes – not like his beautiful amber-brown eyes, but they were something. She was whispering things I couldn't understand and when she twirled me around, I pirouetted only to see that my he-she was sick in bed and that only a few days had passed since I'd last been outside.

"Rima…" His voice was pained, but he stirred in his sleep when my song reached him. Pain clutched at my heart and I couldn't help but be thankful for the girl who'd taken me out of my box. She'd let me see him and I was so very grateful to her. I didn't realize at the time that what my he-she had uttered was my name. Rima… because my song that only he can hear rhymed repeatedly.

I wasn't surprised; my he-she was smart, incredibly so. But what got me confused was when the pink-haired girl turned to me with narrowed eyes. I could feel her looking at me as if she could read my thoughts; know that I was not just a lame figurine, but something that was thinking, something that was feeling for the boy on the bed.

"If I made you human music box girl…" My eyes widened and I felt something pulse inside me. It hurt and it kept going repeatedly. It was somewhere by my front side, right where I think he-she called it my chest. It kept thudding in my 'chest' and if I could, I would have flinched in pain. I tried to fight the pain away though. The pink-haired girl knew that I was somehow alive and she was talking about serious matters. What did she mean turn me human? "I mean, make you human like Nagi. Would you like that?"

Yes! Yes, my head screamed. I used my tiny doll voice to get my message across that yes I would like that – love that! I would do anything to be with my he-she, the he-she who'd always been with me through anything and everything. Through lose screws and stuck-up songs. Through squeaky joints and dusty skin. Anything and everything. My eyes screamed at her.

She smiled at me though and the beating in my chest grew harder in anticipation. I flinched at the pain. What was that beating? It sounded like a fluttering bird's wings.

"If I do make you human," the girl placed me back down on the bedside table. "Please, give me a good reason as to why you deserve Nagihiko."

I blinked… or at least I think I did. That question stomped me and the beating in my heart quieted. I thought about everything he-she and I had been through – all the crying, all the comforting times, all the secrets, all the turns, pirouettes and circles. Through that awful thing humans call puberty and his weird dreams where he called for my name. All the times he'd be stressed when girls ran after him, begging for his phone number.

The beating in my chest went harder and faster and almost instantly my hand moved to my chest. I froze.

I was not a human being, but I was alive. I did not have soft skin; I'm made of porcelain. I do not have smooth hair – I already told you, PORCELAIN. I cannot move; I'm fixed in one position. I cannot speak; I always smile. I'm a figurine on top of a music box that utters a tune only she can hear.

But then, why did my hand move to my chest? Why did my chest hurt? Why did soft curls touch my cheeks? Why did my lips fall open in surprise as my voice, the voice I'd only hear in my head, answered the pink haired girl?

"I see…" She smiled at me, obviously liking my response before she clapped her hands. Everything went dark for me then. I thought she placed me back in my box, then back in the cupboard. I nodded my head and accepted my fate, closing my eyes and finding that I had the ability to cry. I blinked the tears away, watched as they hit my porcelain – No, soft hands. My chest thud in pain and I threw my head back in despair, letting out a cry in vain.

No one would hear me, no one would care. My he-she was on his death bed and I was just a doll, perched on a music box. But I did not regret my answer to the pink girl's question. And as years would come, I would wonder if we'd ever meet again sometime. I would also wallow in defeat and agony as I stand by what I said.

"_I am a figurine, but I __**love him so much**__. It's come to the __**point **__that it's made my __**plastic heart beat **__for him. Isn't that reason __**enough**__?"_

~.~.~

"Wake up, sleepy head." Something soft touched my lips and my eyes fluttered open. I looked up into melted pools of amber and hazel; I couldn't help but smile. "You were having a bad dream?"

I stared at Nagihiko for a moment before shaking my head, getting off his bed and kneeling before his bedside drawer. He watched me from his bed, propped up on his side, head resting on his fist.

I fiddled with the knob for a moment – the dream coming back to me – before I got the guts to pull it open. When I did, I wasn't surprised to see the eggshell box. I flinched for a second; I could hear her cry.

Nagihiko gaped at me, wondering how I knew that this thing was in his drawer. His cheeks flushed red probably because this was usually found in a girl's possession not a boy's.

"How did you know that that was in there?" he asked, his voice rising to that of an octave higher. I smiled.

"I've known you since you were very small…"

"That's a line from a movie; I'm sure of it."

I didn't bother with that as I unfolded the cardboard flaps and withdrew the platform, my eyes widening when I noticed something different. Instead of seeing myself on that platform, I saw a blonde-haired girl with honey-gold eyes that sparkled with something and a person that looked like he-she holding her in his arms.

"I named her Rima after you… and mom added me in when we got married." I turned my head to Nagihiko and blinked. But I thought… "I was going to give it to you for our anniversary, but you somehow found out about my music box girl."

A grin crawled its way to my face and I threw myself at Nagihiko – not that way pervs – and just hugged him, tears falling down from my eyes.

"I love you so much my he-she." I heard him chuckling for a bit before he froze underneath me. He looked up at me and blinked before he found his voice.

"What did you call me?" His eyes drifted from me to the miniature me then back again. I grinned cheekily at him. "Are you really… But how?"

"True love my he-she." I grabbed his hand and placed it by my chest, enjoying the way his cheeks turned red. "My love for you has turned this plastic heart into a real beating heart. All for you."

"But how?"

"Does it matter?"

"I guess not…" He wrapped his arms around me and I relaxed. "Rima-chan… I love you."

"I know…"

~.~.~.~

And that's my story. Thanks for listening to it and thanks for not giving up on me. You see, I know that this is terribly cliché and not everything is physically possible. Don't get mad at me. Go hunt the author down; it's her fault for turning Amu into some sort of witch and giving her powers to turn me human.

I know that that isn't possible – let's be open minded – and I know that I, I, a figurine shouldn't be in love with a human. And a corny line isn't, nor should be enough to deserve Nagihiko. Maybe I'm just lucky...

Oh, well. That's LOVE for you~ XP

_I dream of a music box dancer no one can see_

_She twirls around and round and dances only for me_

_She's just a cute music box dancer singing for me_

_When I hear that melody I know I'll never be free_

_She dances and she sings it and she has a good time_

_She smiles when she goes by and to me that's just fine_

_She plays it and she sings it and she keeps to the time_

_And the little music box dancer will one day be mine_

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><p><strong>T H E E N D !<strong>


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